She counts the bus fare, folds the crease
A coin a psalm for the peace we lease

God bless the small, the almost-seen
The hands that hold what could’ve been
God bless the cracks where the light gets thin
We’re saints of the almost, the might’ve, the been

He mops the floor where the boss won’t tread
Swears the stain’s a map of the lives we shed

God bless the small, the almost-seen
The hands that hold what could’ve been
God bless the cracks where the light gets thin
We’re saints of the almost, the might’ve, the been

The world’s built on backs that don’t bend
But the spine knows truths the heart won’t mend

God bless the small, the almost-seen
The hands that hold what could’ve been
God bless the cracks where the light gets thin
We’re saints of the almost, the might’ve, the been